“I don’t know what else to do,” he said, almost pleading with her, “Whenever I think of breakouts, I always think of prisoners digging themselves out with spoons and stuff…So next to that, guns sounded kind of reasonable!”

“Yeah, but this is dangerous!” Velvet sobbed, “You don’t know who you’re dealing with. You’re a nice guy, Paul.” Her big eyes met his and she gave him one of those pitying looks.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked.

“It means I don’t want you to get hurt…” She said into his chest, covering her face with his shirt, “I don’t want you lying dead out there in the desert with a bullet straight through your head. You don’t deserve it.” Paul was silent for a minute, considering what she had just said.

“It’s just…” she started, “It’s just that you…you came here for help, but you ended up wanting to help someone else instead. You didn’t try to do anything to me, and you helped me for my own benefit.”

“That’s why I have to leave,” he said.